


Yes I Can

by RipplesOfAqua



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Black Emporium Exchange 2017, F/F, Fluff, Kisses, flexing, massages ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-02 01:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12717300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RipplesOfAqua/pseuds/RipplesOfAqua
Summary: "Anything you can do, I can do better.""I can do anything, better than you."





	Yes I Can

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytha/gifts).



“Anything you can do—“

  
The hasty jumble of knots shifts, forcing Cassandra to jump out of the way. Sure enough, the branch lands with a heavy _clunk_ , just where her foot had rested moments earlier. Her irritation rises, her fingers twitching atop the pommel of her sword.

  
It is bad enough they will have to share a tent, but at this rate there will be no tent left to share.

  
She hisses an icy breath through clenched teeth. The sunlight is quickly fading, and the gathering clouds threaten an unpleasant night for those unlucky souls unable to find shelter. A gust of damp air blows across the mass of wood and canvas before her, and it wobbles, taunting her with its instability.

  
This is unacceptable.

  
“ _Stop_. I can do better. Let me—“

  
Unwilling to let this travesty continue, Cassandra steps forward, reaching, intent on taking the matter into her owns hands. Her fingers tighten around the nearest pole, her knuckles white in the cold, and she pulls.

  
But Sera will not let go.

  
“It’s just a tent, Cassandra, get over yourself. I’m perfectly able to—“

  
Sera yanks back, and before Cassandra can protest, she wraps a loop of rope about the end, pulling it not-quite-tight-enough, then joins it to the larger mess of rope and twine.

  
“Not _that_ way“–Cassandra pushes those careless hands back—“it will fall on us while we are sleeping!”

  
“Pfft! Doubt it! Besides, it’s just tying sticks together, yeah? Don’t get your britches in a knot.” Sera sniggers. “Get it? Because tying y—“

  
”Ughhh.”

  
Intent on ignoring the other woman and the snarl she presents, Cassandra sets her focus upon the one tangle she can solve. It will take time to unravel, and nightfall will soon be upon them, so she must work with haste. Finding an end, she traces it back, through winding twists and turns and…

  
She gasps.

  
The sudden, soft touch of a hand steals her attention, and she shivers at the warmth.

  
Sera stares back, an unknown but dangerous glint in her eyes, and for a foolish second Cassandra panics.

  
Sera grins. “I’ll bet I’m better with my hands than you are. Get more _practice_ with them, anyway,” she teases, her bold wink leaving no doubt as to what she means.

  
Cassandra’s eyes narrow. She refuses to think about _that_. Wrenching her hand from Sera’s grip, she crosses her arms over her chest with a scowl.

  
“You won’t be laughing when it is raining and the tent leaks.”

  
Sera scoffs with disgust and a trace of disappointment flickers across her eyes. “A leaking tent? You think that’s bad? It could be worse, _much_ worse.”

  
She turns to leave, and Cassandra feels a stab of worry in her gut.

  
“Wait!” she calls out, and this time it is her turn to reach for frozen fingers. “I apologize, Sera I did not mean it like that.”

  
Cassandra’s mind replays conversations, old and new, in which she had spoken without tact or care. Unwittingly, she had poked at Sera’s vulnerabilities, those scars of hardship made sensitive by independence and pride.

  
She had thought they were making progress. They _had_ been making progress. And sometimes, _sometimes_ Cassandra could almost imagine…

  
But no, that would never happen. Not if she insists on putting her foot in her mouth at every turn.

  
“I just… I do not like the cold.”

  
A glint of humor returns to Sera’s eyes at this admission. “Awww, you cagey, boxed up, teddy bear! Pretending to be all invincible and everything.” She smirks, and Cassandra’s heart manages a back flip as daring as one of Sera’s own. “Well that’s easily solved then. Jump in with me. Nothing warms you up like body heat.”

  
“That… is entirely inappropriate. I-I cannot…”

  
“Oh quiet, you. If you get that cold, but still insist on not wearing underpants—not that I’m complaining, mind you—“

  
“ _Sera!_ ”

  
The tent survives the night, and the bedroll is warmer than any Cassandra can remember.

  
~oOoOo~

  
“I can do _anything_ better than you!” Sera slams her tankard loudly on the table. Leaning back in her chair, she scowls, her arms crossed over her chest in defiance.

  
Cassandra’s eyes close as she steels herself, gathering her strength and restraint for the words to come. She should not be surprised—not really. But she wants nothing more than to settle this matter once and for all.

  
“Sera,” she begins slowly, testing the waters, “you know that is not what I meant.”

  
“Oh really”—Sera raises an expectant eyebrow—“is that _all_ you have to say?”

  
Cassandra resists groaning at that. She is an adult, after all, and she will admit when she is in the wrong.

  
Even when it galls her pride to do so.

  
Straightening her shoulders, she meets Sera’s eyes with honesty. “My words the other day were unfortunate. I apologize. Though I have more experience in many things, there is much I can learn from you—that we can learn from each other.”

  
For a long moment, Sera studies her with piercing eyes and tilted head. With a single nod, she stands up, looks Cassandra straight in the eyes, and extends her hand with confidence.

  
“Okay, Seeker Prissypants. It’s a deal.”

  
“Excuse me?!”

  
For a moment, Cassandra thinks she has misread Sera’s forgiveness, but the woman standing before her shows no trace of malice.

  
“I’m going to teach you archery,” Sera declares with a proud grin, and Cassandra realizes that she cannot refuse.

 

She had said there were things to learn, and she will not go back on her word.

 

“ _Maker, help me_.”

  
And so she finds herself on a rooftop at the crack of dawn, looking down into one of Skyhold’s courtyards, a gleeful Sera at her side.

  
The girl is practically vibrating with excitement, and Cassandra almost smiles, despite her doubts that this endeavor can end in anything except disaster.

  
But there are people watching, so Cassandra restrains herself.

  
It will be a long day.

  
“Now, before you even think ‘bout touching my bow, we’re going to try throwing.” Sera smirks and holds out a handful of… something clearly unpleasant.

  
Cassandra takes a quick glance before deciding that it will be easier if she does not know.

  
But still, this is utterly ridiculous. “I am perfectly capable of throwing…”—she gestures to the thing in Sera’s hand—“whatever _that_ is.”

  
With a snort, Sera rolls her eyes and points to a pile of trunks and belongings left in the courtyard below. “Longer than it looks, yeah?”

  
Cassandra’s eyes widen in realization. “Sera! That belongs to the Marquis of—“

  
“Middle of the courtyard’s fair play”—Sera shrugs, unbothered—“Not my fault the nob can’t keep track of all his shit, yeah?”

  
So, that’s all it is, then? A trick to rope her into Sera’s pranks? Cassandra shakes her head in disbelief, though she refuses to back out now. She grabs the make-shift projectile from Sera’s hand. With one eye on the long drop in front of her she tenses, shifts her weight and… throws.

  
It falls short of the target, Cassandra notes with relief, though it is a better effort than most would manage.

  
Sera is clearly unimpressed, shaking her head in disgust. “My turn,” she singsongs, as if she knows something Cassandra does not.

  
In a fluid, graceful move that leaves Cassandra breathless, Sera coils and then releases the dark ball in an arc. It lands with a satisfying _thump_ on the Marquis’ fur travel cloak, and Sera gestures rudely in victory.

 

“Told you! I always hit it!” Sera throws her head back and cackles at the joke. “That’s what she said!”

  
“That is absurd!”

  
Sera sticks her tongue out at that comment, before growing serious—or at least as serious as she would ever manage. “I have muscles too, you know,” she says, clearly bored with having to convince Cassandra of her capability. “Not as _phwoar_ as yours, but still. _Muscles_.”

  
“Yes, yes,” Cassandra dismisses, “I _have_ seen your muscles before, Sera.” But muscles alone cannot explain the sheer accuracy of that throw.

  
Sera splutters at that. “Been looking, have you?” she asks with surprise, and for a moment Cassandra is glad to turn the tables back on Sera, however temporarily.

  
Sera recovers quickly, of course. “Still only part of it, though,” she adds. “Loosen up, alright? _Flex-i-bility_ ”—she pokes Cassandra’s shoulder repeatedly to emphasize—“I could help with your shoulders, you know. Stretching and… _other things_.”

  
“We… can discuss this later.”

  
Sera waggles her eyebrows, and Cassandra absolutely does _not_ blush at that—there are people watching, after all.

  
~oOoOo~

  
“No you can’t, Sera.” Cassandra hisses a long breath through clenched teeth, fighting back the tension rising in her shoulders. Once an idea takes root in Sera’s head, it can be near impossible to convince her otherwise, and Cassandra would prefer not to see anyone mauled today.

  
They are many miles from the nearest village, and running out of precious healing potions.

  
“Pfffft!” Sera replies, oblivious to the Seeker’s worry, “and you would know, would you?” She stops abruptly and pivots. Her head tilted to one side, she gazes at Cassandra for a long moment, questioning eyes roving over arms, and legs, and muscle. “Have _you_ ever punched a bear?”

  
Cassandra shakes away sudden dizziness, and her words come short and choppy. “What? No! Why would I?”

  
“Dunno.” Sera shrugs and turns to catch up with the rest of the party. “Just figured you’d want to know if you could? I mean, I sometimes pot an arrow just to see if I can hit something.”

  
Cassandra swallows as Sera strides away, her eyes tracing muscles in the archer’s back. She notices them more, now, after that day in the courtyard. Just as she notices the target practice held daily below her smithy window.

  
But Sera is not yet finished with her questions. “Did Andraste say not to use your training for fun?” With a snort, she throws her head back and laughs at the thought. “Fun for you, I mean. Probably not fun for the bear.” Looking back over her shoulder, she licks her lips and winks. “You’ve got some reach on you.”

  
Cassandra blinks—once, twice…

  
“No… No, Andraste did not specifically say one should not punch bears…”

  
“Well. There you go then,” Sera answers triumphantly, as if the matter was settled.

  
But no, the matter was decidedly _not_ settled, and Cassandra feels a prickle of doubt whether they were still talking about the bears.

  
The conversation haunts her for days.

  
_Fun_. Is it wrong to want fun—no not just fun, _happiness_ —when she has her duty? To the Inquisition, to the Chantry, to whatever Seekers yet remain?

  
And Andraste… where she is silent, would she approve?

  
_Would it matter?_

  
Cassandra finds her answer in the midst of battle.

  
The great beast stands before her, its fetid breath invading her lungs as she readies herself for the fight. The Inquisitor shouts and the creature lunges, poised to strike and—

  
Cassandra does the unthinkable.

  
Letting go of the hilt with one hand, she allows the point of her sword to lower towards the ground and then…

  
She punches, her fist connecting with a resounding crack above the brute’s matted beard.

  
It is a foolish move—stupid, and inefficient, and dangerous.

  
She has left herself wide open to the bear’s fury, and she braces herself for the consequences, knowing she will be unable to fully bring her sword up in time.

  
The bear rears up onto its hind legs, ready to attack, but its angry roar is cut short by the arrow that blooms red in its throat.

  
It collapses into a heavy heap, revealing Sera standing victorious on the other side.

  
“ _Oooh!_ Nice one, Cassandra! Knew you had it in you.”

  
Sera laughs her approval and Cassandra smiles.

  
She has made her decision.

  
~oOoOo~

  
“Yes, I can!” Sera whines into her tankard, her lips pulling into an exaggerated pout.

  
“No. Absolutely not”—Cassandra tries to pull the tankard away from her—“We ride out before dawn, tomorrow. I could—“

  
Sera yanks the alcohol out of Cassandra’s grip and downs it in a single gulp. “Again with the _injure yourself_ bit. I’m not delicate, you know. And you’re not the only one who can hurt people round here.”

  
“I did not—“ Cassandra protests, but she is interrupted by Sera’s order for another round of drinks.

  
At this rate, Sera will not be able to stand, let alone ride a horse come morning.

  
“Ughhh. Maybe,” Cassandra agrees. It is a desperate attempt, but maybe it will distract Sera from drinking herself into oblivion.

  
No one is looking forward to a second trip to the Fallow Mire, but Cassandra suspects the thought of plague and starvation hits Sera the hardest.

  
The distraction seems to work for now, and Sera perks up, sitting straighter in her chair.

  
“Good! I’ll wager—“

  
“No.” Cassandra tries to nip _that_ idea in the bud, but fails.

  
“Spoilsport!” Sera blows a raspberry at her. “Give it a listen, at least. You win, I stop throwing rabbit raisins at Lord Whatshisface for a week.”

  
Cassandra grimaces. _Rabbit raisins?_ Is that what those were?

  
“And if you win?” she asks, cautiously.

  
“I win, and you flex your arm. _Properly_. No sleeves, and all that.”

  
“Fine, but just this once.” It could be a worse deal, Cassandra muses. At least it doesn’t involve throwing things.

  
Sera smiles dangerously. “Once is all it takes.”

  
They clear the table—a small, rickety old thing with three legs—and settle down on either side. The stool is too short for Cassandra’s legs, and she fidgets, trying to get comfortable, before stretching them out in front of her.

  
She glances at Sera, who is bouncing in her chair with eagerness, and some unknown mischief she has planned. Cassandra sighs. By all rights, she should have no problem winning, but she suspects this arm wrestling match will not proceed as expected.

  
They steady their arms against the table, elbow to elbow. Their hands meet with grips of iron, and Cassandra ignores the jolt of energy that runs through her. Cassandra bends her wrist slightly, so her hand will not be forced back, and with a nod from Sera, she begins the count.

  
“ _Three_ … _Two_ … _One_ …”

  
The force is immediate, but they do not budge. This will be a match of stamina, not an immediate victory. They struggle, palm to palm, muscles burning, a thin sheen of sweat covering them both.

  
Cassandra meets Sera’s eyes in growing respect, but— _what?_

  
Something tickles Cassandra’s calf, and her attention wavers, allowing Sera to push her hand back an inch. Again, she feels something stroke her leg, and with a wave of irritation Cassandra realizes it is Sera’s foot taking advantage of the lack of leg-room. With a growl, Cassandra refocuses her effort and forces her hand forward. She is close, so close to winning…

  
But something blocks her version and a two spots of warmth press against her lips. Her body tingles with anticipation, and her lips open, pressing back against the heat.

  
The back of Cassandra’s hand slams hard against the table.

  
Sera pulls back with a shit-eating grin.

  
Cassandra jumps to her feet, hands balling into fists, though she can already feel a bruise forming.

  
“You cheated!”

  
“Yeah, so?”—Sera shrugs—“You kissed back!”  
Cassandra gapes, speechless, as fury and elation war within her. To lose so dishonorably, but _that kiss_ …

  
Unless…

  
Slowly, her lips form a smile as dangerous as Sera’s own, as she hatches her plan.

  
“You know, it would have been easier just to ask.”

  
Sera’s response is puzzled. “What? _Oh!_ ”

  
Cassandra reaches down and pulls off her tunic, leaving on nothing but a sleeveless, threadbare shirt and her breastband. Looking Sera straight in the eyes, she pulls her arm up and flexes.

  
Sera gasps.

  
“ _Woof!_ ”

  
~oOoOo~

  
“No, you can’t, Sera. Put me down.”

  
Cassandra struggles halfheartedly in Sera’s embrace, her feet dangling less than an inch above the ground. Sera’s arms are wrapped tightly around her midsection, slowly inching lower.

  
Sera giggles. “Aww, wuz wrong?” She sways slightly from the alcohol, and Cassandra hugs her shoulders tightly to retain some semblance of balance. “You ‘fraid of heights?” Sera continues with slurred words, “Shouldn’t be. Head’s tall ‘nuff already.”

  
“What!? No!” Cassandra protests. “Sera, you should not, y—“

  
Sera sways again, and Cassandra scrambles to put her feet on the floor before she falls.

  
Jamming her fists into her hips, Sera glowers back. “You say I’m gonna injure myself one more time, and I put worms on your bed,” she threatens, though the effect is lost when she starts to hiccup. “Not like you have to sleep there. My bed’s softer.”

  
She manages a slow wink, but it throws her off balance. Cassandra—bright red at the suggestion—catches her as she stumbles.

  
“I was _going_ to say that you’re the winner. If anything, _I_ should be the one picking _you_ up.” And hopefully, she could get Sera safely tucked into bed before she injures herself—or any innocent bystanders.

  
“Oh. Well that’s ‘kay then.” Sera presses a kiss to Cassandra’s neck. “Go on! Bet you can’t do it one-handed!”

  
Cassandra rolls her eyes at that, but she can’t help smiling in affection. Besides, after the arm-wrestling debacle, she has to earn her dignity back somehow.

  
Maneuvering Sera until she is fully upright and facing away from her, Cassandra places her hands on either side of Sera’s lower ribcage. Sera’s skin burns hot beneath her shirt, and Cassandra savors the feeling of solid muscle beneath her hands.

  
“I’m going to need you to bend your legs and push against the ground when I tell you to. Can you do that?” she asks, hoping that Sera is not too intoxicated for this.

  
Sera nods and Cassandra gives the signal. With her elbows tucked securely against her sides and her hand hand’s firmly around Sera, she lifts her straight into the air, then down to sit on her shoulder.

  
She will deny it, if asked, but the lift comes from the dancers she watched as a child, breathless with awe at the sheer elegance and intimacy of the move.

  
And now, as her hands hold Sera’s hips securely into place, she feels joy bubble within her. Sera squeals in delight, and Cassandra wishes she could see her face.

  
“I should win archery tournaments more often!” Sera crows, lifting her hands above her head in triumph. But the movement sends her off-balance, and she falls sideways, her arms wind-milling against the air.

  
Cassandra’s heart leaps and reaches blindly. Somehow she manages to grab Sera, and bring her down so that she lies across Cassandra’s shoulders. Pain shoots down her back, but she ignores it, focusing only on getting Sera safely to the ground.

  
After what feels like an eternity, Sera finally stands on her own two feet, but when she turns to Cassandra, the smile falls from her face.

  
“What’s wrong?”

  
Cassandra gasps as another spasm hits. “I am an idiot.”

  
~oOoOo~

“Yes, I can. Quit squirming and let me work.” There is amused fondness in the elf’s tone, and Cassandra feels her resistance waning.

 

She is not certain why she falters. It is a simple offer, after all—one made with genuine concern and goodwill.

 

Cassandra suspects her bruised pride is at fault, though Sera is not to blame for that. No, that was all Cassandra’s doing. She had chosen to drink an utterly undignified amount of alcohol last night. It was no wonder she had injured herself in such a foolish manner.

 

Cassandra attempts one last protestation. “I am fine, Sera,” she claims, though she is anything but. Her back trembles with the effort it takes to stand—straight and tall, for she does not dare slouch. One wrong move, one thoughtless twist, and the spasms will resume their torment.

 

She must be getting weak, she thinks, and makes a promise to herself to double her training regime once she is healed.

 

Sera sees right through her, of course—always has. “Right,” she scoffs, “you’re fine and I’m the Empress of Orlais. Now take your shirt off and lie down, already.”

 

She places a careful hand on Cassandra’s shoulder blade, gently guiding her towards the bed.

 

Cassandra’s toes bump against the footboard, and she freezes. Once again, she chides herself for her hesitancy. They have already seen each other unclothed, have bathed together in the luminous waters of the Forbidden Oasis.

 

But tonight is different, and they are alone. For weeks they have danced upon the edge of a great precipice, and now Cassandra must decide to make that final leap.

 

She meets Sera’s eyes, and finds that playful sparkle. But there is something deeper, too—a serious promise, a recognition of what _they_ can be. Cassandra realizes with a jolt that she has already made the jump.

 

  
With a quick nod, Cassandra reaches for the hem of tunic and pulls it off with one efficient movement. Lying down, her stomach pressed against the blankets, she pillows her head in her arms and takes a deep breath.

 

  
“That’s better, then. I was beginning to think you were ticklish or something,” Sera teases.

 

Before she can respond, Sera climbs onto the bed and seats herself on top, her legs straddling either side of Cassandra’s lower back. Her weight is careful, offering just enough pressure to provide a sense of security and subtle restraint. Strong, calloused fingertips dig into Cassandra’s tender muscles, pushing and kneading just where the tension gnaws the worst.

 

It is an exquisite torture, and a deep moan reverberates though Cassandra’s lungs as her body relaxes into Sera’s firm touch.

 

Sera builds the pressure slowly, fingertips to fists to forearms, she makes her way across Cassandra’s back, until…

 

“ _Oh_!”

 

Cassandra gasps at the sudden flare of pain, but Sera does not relent. She holds her elbow steady as Cassandra’s squirms subside, gradually relaxing as the ache fades into peaceful bliss.

 

“Told you I was good with my hands,” Sera says with smug triumph and a satisfied grin.

 

She releases the pressure, but does not remove her hands from Cassandra’s skin. Instead, she traces gentle contours along Cassandra’s spine with strokes so light Cassandra half believes she must be dreaming. Sera’s lips follow suit, ghosting up across Cassandra’s neck. Sera nibbles at an earlobe and a new pressure builds deep within Cassandra.

 

“You’re blushing,” Sera whispers against her jaw, and Cassandra shivers at the vibration.

 

“I-I do not blush so easily,” Cassandra “You cannot m—“

 

Sera chuckles, and reaching beneath Cassandra , rolls them both so that they are side by side, their nose almost touching.

 

Cassandra reaches out, caressing Sera’s cheek and pulling her into a deep kiss.

 

Their legs intertwine. Their fingers tangle in silken strands of hair.

 

For a moment, Sera pulls back to whisper, “yes, I can,” before leaning down to join their lips once more.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a Black Emporium Exchange treat for the wonderful Mytha/thewindysideofcare. It was inspired by a few beautiful drawings she did, which you can find here:
> 
> Flexing: http://thewindysideofcare.tumblr.com/post/154393334955/flexing-cassandra-because-flexing-Cassandra  
> The Lift: http://thewindysideofcare.tumblr.com/post/154821130950  
> The Massage: http://thewindysideofcare.tumblr.com/post/154602851300/looking-less-grumpy-already  
> Kisses: http://thewindysideofcare.tumblr.com/post/154259549805/neck-kisses-because-elves-are-short-or-maybe
> 
> Also based on the song by Irving Berlin. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WO23WBji_Z0


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